


In a Week

by Beckon



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Not MK11, Not sure how that happened, Post-MKX, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mild religious undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckon/pseuds/Beckon
Summary: He felt the breeze, chilled and refreshing, blowing across his bare skin, drying the last beads of sweat that still clung to him.All of the experiences of one's life lead to the present.So how did the mess of his lead him to this?





	In a Week

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a piece I did for a much longer story that I'm willing to admit that I'm probably never going to do and/or complete, but I figured since this portion was done, I might as well do something with it.
> 
> For someone who's been shipping them since Deception, I sure as shit haven't done anything with them.

Kung Lao stirred awake at the sensation of the chilled breeze running across his sweat-laden skin.

It brought his slowly-awakened attention to the fact that he had closed his eyes in the first place.

It had only been for a few seconds at most though, just long enough for him to catch his breath.

Just long enough for him to come to terms with what had just happened.

A few seconds too short to make work of anything really.

Correction, few _hours_ too short to process what was going through his head right now.

There was still this suspended disbelief that what had just happened, had actually happened to begin with.

That what was happening now, that what was still ongoing was real.

That it was continuing on even as he thought about it.

He had lived a life full of too many odd occurrences- of too little living and too much death. He had experiences that he didn't know what to do with, and experiences that he wanted nothing to do with.

Experiences that had left him waking up in cold sweats in the middle of the night, gasping and out of breath- near on the verge of a mental breakdown.

It was those nights he hated the most.

Not out of memory, but for the aftermath that came the following morning.

The feeling of a gutted stomach, a hoarse throat, and a shaking in his hands that he could never quite stop on his own. The lingering pain in his eyes, in his throat and jaw- the soreness that encapsulated his entire body, and yet a numbness that made it hard for him to care about any of it.

It made a lifetime worth of training, a lifetime worth of honing his skills, of finding balance, feel like nothing.

[It was hard to keep track of the tally marks on his forearm now and days.]

[Small notes in black ink that he kept around more for himself than anyone else.]

He had seen far too much in this world and he had gone through too much to still be considered pure of heart- to still be considered blessed and holy by the rigorous and purifying training the Shaolin had put him through.

Balance of body and mind, they preached.

And yet his balance had seen better days.

It was a balance he was still trying to reclaim.

[He counted each tally mark as a setback to what little progress he had managed to make.]

He had witnessed life, death, a whirlwind of good and evil, passion and despair all tied into one event. He had experienced beginnings and endings; reawakenings. There were experiences that taught him wisdom, that helped him to see the silver linings, to see the brighter sides of things- to see the greener grass. And in his lifetime, previous and now, it was that optimism that kept him going.

But there were experiences that let him know what the sound of his own neck breaking sounded like.

[There was no pain.]

[Looking back now, it felt more like mercy than death.]

It had happened and sometimes, it was still happening.

But this wasn't it.

This moment that he found himself wrapped up in, tangled and exhausted by, it wasn't because of that.

All of the experiences of one's life lead to the present.

So how did the mess of his lead him to this?

Kung Lao could feel the weight of her head nestled on his shoulder still. He could feel the subtle caress of her fingers as she trailed them back and forth across his chest; the touch was light but affirming enough as she repeated the same, slow steady motion again and again.

It was comforting against his battered skin, comforting against age-old wounds that acted out from time to time.

And maybe she could feel them herself.

Maybe she could feel them against her own hand, fighting back against her like old demons raking their fingers against the underside of his skin.

But maybe more though, she could feel the heat from the sun warming his body- and in return, warming her own.

He felt the breeze, chilled and refreshing, blowing across his bare skin, drying the last beads of sweat that still clung to him.

The wind cooled him off, cooled him down, but it brought out the heated impressions of her hands, her lips, her mouth that still lingered on his body. The cool air blew sensitive across the carving marks of her nails, the gripping hold of her teeth- tight and harsh against his neck, holding him down, pinning him in place.

His heart still raced, still trying to catch up and make sense of things.

His chest still throbbed from the bite, the owning mark over his heart.

Red and raw, an impact made in the heat of the moment.

A sigh punctured the silence between them, quiet and gentle from her lips; relieved, satisfied, and exhausted all the same.

Her eyes, dark and always calm, although heated and red in the moment, were closed- drawing his gaze to the relaxed expression that looked heavenly on her slumbering face. And when he thought that she might've dozed off just the same, she turned her head and tucked it against his shoulder, nuzzling him as she traced the tip of her nose against his skin.

"I wasn't expecting that from a Shaolin," Ashrah whispered, and the smile curled on the corners of her lips was easily heard in her voice when she spoke.

Kung Lao gave a quiet chuckle, forgoing his debate on his Shaolin heritage as he carefully readjusted the loose clothing around them. Ensuring that they were both still somewhat covered by the abandoned material; censored, at the very least anyways. He couldn't exactly recall when their clothing came apart, or how it ended up pooled underneath them, but those details were hardly of importance now.

"I cannot guarantee that... I was completely a Shaolin during that," Kung Lao replied.

The art of declaring celibacy was more of a strong suggestion rather than an ordered tradition.

Those who followed it were typically praised.

And those who didn't were asked not to speak of it- or be seen with it.

[Hence the difference between himself and Lui Kang.]

"Then again, the biting and the clawing was a little unexpected as well," he added.

Ashrah gave a short laugh, her hand moving to cover her face in what looked to be a moment of bashfulness- and he felt an odd swelling in his chest at the sight of it. Tenderly, she moved her fingers to the shallow wound on his chest, and touched at the soon-to-be swollen skin.

"I suppose I wasn't much of a healer either," she spoke, gentle and sweet still, "- although I'd like to think that I offered some form of healing."

That was what she was, or at least what she was supposed to be to him.

An outside figure looking in.

Someone who could help with the ink on his forearms; someone who could help wash them off one by one- and prevent more from taking their place.

Kung Lao originally had doubts about her abilities, about what the rumors said about her- but when one was desperate, and under the persistent guidance of a certain Wind God, there was not much to lose. He had already lost enough on his own, she certainly couldn't make him lose anything more.

But she did.

Just not in the way he was expecting.

"I suppose you could say something like that," Kung Lao offered in jest.

Ashrah laughed again, quiet and quaint, before she slowly pushed herself up from him- careful with the way one of her legs remained tangled still with one of his own. An arm moved to cover her breasts, holding and tucking them in, shielding them from the isolated scenery around them. There was no one around for miles; a perk he did well to take advantage of when he locked himself away to this place.

Although perhaps choosing to engage in carnal sin in an opened courtyard overlooking miles of forestry was still tempting a wicked fate.

Still, Kung Lao tugged loose a crumbled portion of his shirt from beneath him and handed it to her, watching as she graciously pulled it over her naked chest.

A woman of virtue still.

Her dark hair hung loose for the first he had seen it; it spilled over her firm shoulders, but just barely touched her back.

He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch it.

Kung Lao moved to follow her motion and pushed himself to sit up with her; he wouldn't admit that it was also an action taken to relieve the sore aching of his back. He moved a hand down to ensure that he was still partly covered up as well, nothing much more than the necessities anyways. While he was no stranger towards nudity, he would respect her wishes to avoid it- outside of the cause anyways.

His eyes followed hers as she seemed focused on something off in the distance- only to find nothing in particular sticking out to him.

Nothing more than grey clouds hovering over the treeline.

A storm on the horizon.

"I should leave soon," Ashrah announced, quiet still.

And the words hurt a little more than they should've.

They hurt more than he had anticipated.

But she had never stayed for longer than a few hours, never longer than a few days scattered throughout the month.

Kung Lao had spent months out here, purposely isolating himself from the world- unable to bear the weight of the guilt he carried, the weight of the horrors he had caused with his own hands. It had been involuntarily; he had had no control over himself, no power to stop the dark magic that had held him hostage for so many years.

But that argument did little to change the memories that kept him up at night.

His anger at himself, at the situation, long since resolved by the Jinsei's death and rebirth, lead to him butting heads with those who cared about him- who tried to be there for him. He had gotten into countless fights with Fujin over the fact that he never wanted to see the Wind God again, that he never wanted to see anyone again.

They were empty words, just things said in the moment; things he would regret later when he was in a clearer void of mind.

Still, the fact remained that more often than not, all he wanted to be was alone.

From time to time, he was still purged by the thought that dying alone, dying where no one would ever find his body was the greatest gift of mercy that he could give to himself after the crimes he had committed.

And now there was this settling agony that he was afraid of that idea now.

But Kung Lao felt the weight of her head on his shoulder again; he felt the subtle weight of her body slumping against him- and that suffocating fear disappeared.

"But I don't wish to," Ashrah finished, bringing a hand to his chest again, stroking him the same way she had done before.

He caught himself smiling now, more out of relief at her words, at the way she had said one thing while her body responded in opposite. "I would ask you to stay but I know better," Kung Lao admitted, desperate for her continued company, but knowing that he wasn't her priority. Maybe in this moment, when she was here at this temple, he was- or at least he had been when they were professional and at arm's length with one another.

But this, this mess they had made their bed in, was far from being a priority.

"We both know better," she remarked, "and yet I don't see either of us doing anything about it."

And he certainly wouldn't be the first one to make the move to do so.

Instead, he moved to brush his head against her own, brushing his forehead to hers, inevitably coaxing her to look up at him. He touched a kiss to her forehead, heard the quiet chuckle in response, before he leaned down and pulled her into a different kiss.

Gentle and sweet between them.

He could still feel his own heat on her lips; he could still faintly taste the hint of his own blood on them as well.

"Maybe we shouldn't do anything about it," Kung Lao offered.

"No?" Ashrah mused, turning her head just enough to kiss at the corner of his lips now. "Perhaps maybe we should shower at least, before it gets too late."

He followed her guidance and tilted his head to the other side, allowing her lips to find the marked path against his neck; a path already well worn red by her actions before. This time it was just her lips, kissing gentle where her teeth had once been. "It's going to rain soon, you know," Kung Lao started, feeling the change in the air now, a change in the pressure around them.

The chilled breeze had started to get colder now, drawing the storm in closer; the relief it had once provided was gone now, replaced by the shiver of it almost sucking the heat out of his skin.

"We could just stay out here."

A loose offer.

If anything, just to avoid breaking the mood.

"Are you seeking a baptism by rain?" Ashrah questioned.

The surprising remark was enough to cause him to snort back a laugh. "That is one way of putting it, yes," he admitted, moving fingers now to touch at the loose strand of hair that had fallen into her face. He twirled it between two fingers before he gently tucked it behind her ear, taking the open moment to run his fingers through the soft mess at her shoulders. "After all, what other form of water is more pure?"

Not a lot of people seemed to appreciate his sense of humor, but she did for some reason or another.

"You stage a good point," she remarked, as she stopped her hand at the center of his chest.

And Kung Lao felt the subtle pressure behind her touch when she stopped, before he felt the pushing motion behind her palm follow after. It didn't take much for him to take the hint, feeling the way his arms almost buckled under the implication as he allowed her to gently push him back to the ground, back onto the mangled pile of their clothing.

"Well then, if we're going to be baptized for our sins," Ashrah started, as she tossed aside the clothing between them. She leaned into him, moving an arm across his shoulders before she brought one leg over his waist in following suit, settling herself on top of him once more.

He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight.

"- We might as well do them together."


End file.
